Julie Fay: My daughter's secret admirer

Monday

Feb 28, 2011 at 12:01 AMFeb 28, 2011 at 7:19 AM

When I arrived at school, it was like Fashion Week. Never had I seen such fourth-grade frippery and finery. The boys wore sport coats, ties and dress pants while velvet, sequins and rhinestones adorned the girls. It was like an Easter parade, minus the bonnets.

Julie Fay

I chaperoned a field trip for my daughter’s class last week.

They were going to the symphony and, as field trips go, that’s much more my style than, say, an excursion to a bug-plagued living history museum or a seasickness-inducing whale watch. But a chance to see and hear an orchestra? Sign me up.

When I arrived at school, it was like Fashion Week. Never had I seen such fourth-grade frippery and finery. The boys wore sport coats, ties and dress pants while velvet, sequins and rhinestones adorned the girls. It was like an Easter parade, minus the bonnets.

When Abby’s teacher announced the groups for the field trip, I had six students charged to my care. Shortly after the names were announced, I watched as one of Abby’s classmates put his hand on her back, and I leaned over her desk to speak to her.

Hmmm, I thought. Pretty chummy for fourth grade.

Soon, attendance was taken. Abby’s teacher then dismissed the children to fetch their jackets and mentioned quietly to me that she would remove two boys from my group because two in her group were absent. When Abby’s classmate, of the hand-on-the-back conversation, returned to the room with his jacket, the teacher told him that he was going to be in her group instead of mine.

“Is that OK with you?” she asked him.

“No!” he blurted.

Hmmm-hmmmmmm, I thought.

The teacher looked at me, eyebrows raised, then back at him.

“Do you want to stay in Abby’s group?” she asked.

He nodded, blushing.

And so it came to pass that Friendly Boy was in my group on the field trip. His behavior was gentlemanly, in a 9-year-old kind of way. He never really interacted with Abby all that much, except to tug on her sleeve a bit on the walk from the bus to the concert hall, and to jockey for position so he was never more than a few kids removed from her.

When I took out my phone after the performance to snap a photo, he squeezed his smiling face into the frame next to Abby’s and remained there while I figured out how to actually record the moment for posterity.

By this point, I wasn’t hmm-hmming anymore. I’d figured it out, even if Abby hadn’t.

The orchestra sounded divine; the bus on the way back to school, less so. Abby looked out the window for the entire ride. Friendly Boy, in another seat, rested his head on the seat back. No further tugging or blushing was observed.

That night, while tucking her in at bedtime, I said to Abby, “You know, I think Friendly Boy really likes you.”

She smiled distractedly.

“Yeah. We sit next to each other at school.”

“I know,” I said. “I think he really likes you, like a girlfriend.”

Abby gasped. “Really? Wow!” Then, in the next breath, “But we’re too young for that.”